


Last Christmas

by coulsons-hawk (allyoop)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Christmas, Christmas Crack, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Crack, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, Friendship/Love, Happy Ending, Holidays, Humor, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Language, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 09:50:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2846687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyoop/pseuds/coulsons-hawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Holiday romp starring Bucky and Steve and a hard-to-achieve Christmas kiss.</p><p>OR</p><p>The fic where hearts are melted, Towers are frozen, and a rhyming villain ALMOST ruins the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mahoward36](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahoward36/gifts), [thefoxinthesweater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefoxinthesweater/gifts).



> Dedicated to the very sweet, ridiculously kind mahoward36 and thefoxinthesweater. Thank you for being my Stucky bosom buddies and making my shitty year a little bit better.
> 
> Happy Holidays everyone!

He knew he was screwed the second the icicles started forming on his arm. It wasn’t possible; Stark had sworn up and down that his arm had been refitted with the best and mostly-legal metals on Earth and the internal temperature recalibration would make up for anything the metal couldn’t quite adjust to. But here Bucky was, arm turning frosty silver and stalactites dripping from his fingers.

He shook his hand angrily in the air, sending ice flying. “Fucking _magic_.”

 

\--- TWENTY-FOUR HOURS EARLIER ---

 

“Well, shit. That was one fucked up mission-”

“ _Barton_. Language.”

Clint faux-collapsed in the plane seat next to Natasha, who was trying her best to keep a straight face. “What? Its not like Stark’s still filming us for that one reality show-“ He sat up suddenly and glanced around. “He isn’t anymore, right?”

“I wouldn’t tell you if I was.” Tony swept in, an undetectable gesture retracting the armor back into its carry-on form. “Such is the nature of _reality_ ; unfiltered and unedited.”

“You better have destroyed that last tape you did; we don’t want a repeat of the Hammer debacle, do we?”

“Hill, it’s like you don’t know me at all!” He went to clap her on the back, but a single raised eyebrow made him think better of it. “I got Thor to promise no more nudity on screen.”

“But Man of Iron! As I have told before, on Asgard we do not shame our nude forms. It is a cause for celebration, when one is proud of one’s body.”

“Just keep the celebrating away from the cameras and I think the public will stop rallying for the ‘censorship of heroes’.” Steve tugged off his helmet and grinned over his shoulder. “Not that that will stop those die-hard protesters, right Buck?”

The smile fell from Bucky’s face. “Is this about me becoming an Avenger again?”

Steve was quick to backtrack. “Just a joke. But there are always a few crazies that get passionate about the strangest things. You know there was a group of five girls that camped outside Stark Tower for a week protesting the fact I always wear a helmet? Never did figure out why.”

“Probably ‘cause you always cover up your pretty mug with that thing.”

“Maybe Stark will make me an invisible one; all the protection without hiding my good looks.”

Bucky ducked into an empty seat, laughing a little too loud. “Now that’ll be a wonder for the Stark Expo 2015.”

“You know…” Steve plunked himself next to Bucky. “That’s not a half bad idea. A lot more people would wear their bike helmets if they were see-through. Maybe I should ask Stark-“

“See, _this_ is why you’re America’s golden boy. _Transparent bike helmets_ , I swear to god Steve you are just-“

“Buckle up, guys.” Natasha’s voice came in clearly through the intercom. “Clint volunteered to fly.”

“Barton!” They heard Tony clatter out of his seat behind them and head towards the front. “How many times do I have to tell you that Jarvis can fly perfectly fine without you getting in the way and-“ His rant continued even after the cockpit door closed. Bucky snuck a glance at Steve, who was laughing whole-heartedly. He took a steadying breath.

“Movie for the ride home?”

“Of course! Your pick this time or is it mine?”

“You picked Lord of the Rings when we were coming back from New Mexico.”

“Now _that_ was a movie.”

“My turn then.” He swiped absentmindedly across the choices on the tablet screen, already having planned this moment weeks ago. “Christmas is in a few days.”

“Like we could forget.” Steve unzipped his uniform jacket with a slight frown on his face. “Nothing makes me miss my mom’s simple Christmas dinners than seeing Santa décor show up in September.”

“Countdown always seems to start earlier and earlier doesn’t it.” Bucky’s finger hovered above his choice, starting to regret it a little. “Does that mean you’re not in the mood…?”

Steve looked over. “ _Love Actually_? I don’t think I’ve seen that one yet. I’m okay with that if you want to.”

“Christmas romance it is.”

“Nothing better than that, right?” Steve elbowed him playfully in the side as he settled in to watch the movie on the tablet balanced between them. Never had Bucky been so grateful for his training than in this moment, where his face was left in a pleasant but neutral expression while his heart rattled and shouted something that sounded frighteningly like _I love you Steve Grant Rogers, you giant attractive dork of a man_. Not that Bucky would ever say that aloud. Not yet anyways.

“This is the one with the airport scene, right?” He was leaning much closer than Bucky remembered. He felt a shiver run down his neck from Steve’s breath.

“I thought you hadn’t seen it?”

“I haven’t. But it’s super famous. Trust me, I’m sure you’ll recognize it.”

 

In hindsight, maybe he should have chosen an action movie. _Love Actually_ wasn’t boring, but after the day the team had had, anything that wasn’t like _Fast & The Furious_ was sure to make an exhausted Steve nod off. Bucky kept the movie running, despite the quiet snores he heard from his shoulder. At least one of them should finish the movie; it was a classic after all. Bucky had full intentions of telling him all about it when he woke up, about everything. He had this whole mini speech about loss and friendship and old memories that felt new again, and he was relying on the magic of Christmas to ease his words. But now Steve was sleeping ungracefully against his shoulder, mouth slightly open, and body folded against Bucky’s side. Every ounce of confidence he had felt going into this had evaporated (and who was Bucky kidding? He was a wreck of newfound nerves barely held together by sheer will and old habits. A Christmastime confession was adding the worst kind of pressure onto himself). He tried to keep watching, but it quickly dissolved into running alternative scenarios in his head while inching millimeter by millimeter closer to Steve at his side. The plane was cold and Steve always ran warm, or at least that’s how he justified it in his head.

He snuck another long glance at Steve’s face. He was leaning over so close now that Bucky could count each eyelash that brushed against his cheek. It would be so easy to close those last few inches of distance and kiss Steve, to tilt his head and press lips to lips just like he’d been craving these last few months. Just one more inch and-

He sat up straight, heartbeat unsteady, and eyes trying to refocus on the movie. It wasn’t right: the moment, the atmosphere, Steve’s lack of participation. Bucky couldn’t make that decision for him, couldn’t cross that last boundary without talking to him first. And after the life they’ve both lived, Bucky thought permission was an important thing to ask.

“Crap.” Steve stirred beside him, slowly pushing back from Bucky and blinking against the light of the plane cabin. “I missed the whole thing.”

Only now did he realize that the movie was over and the credits were playing. “You didn’t miss much. Just the usual cutesy romantic ending.”

“Everyone happy?”

Bucky smiled despite the tight feeling in his stomach. “Pretty much.”

The plane lights flickered to signal the beginning of their descent and he turned away from Steve in order to buckle his seatbelt and settle in for landing. He was grateful for a physical distraction from his thoughts. Christmas was in a few days and he was no further in his plan than he was a month ago. After his last major surge of memories, he had remembered Steve’s hands. Small and strong, with bruised knuckles and paint under the fingernails. He remembered holding those hands and spinning, laughing as the sugar of Coney Island cotton candy made him want to dance with Steve right in the middle of the fairgrounds. He felt so free back then, so full of youthful love and no fear of anything. Because that’s what it was: _love_. It took seeing memories of his old self to recognize the feeling he had now. He would look at Steve and feel that burst of giddiness again; he’d want to take those hands, now bigger and warmer, and pull him close to find out if he tasted like the sugary sweet candy he did in his dreams. Bucky knew it was love; nothing else made him feel so fearless.

But here they were, sitting close but not quite touching, and any handholding still firmly in the past. It was during the rattle and roar of descent that Bucky made a pact. _James Buchanan Barnes_ he thought _You will_ not _spend this Christmas moping around again ‘cause your love is sleeping in the next room rather than in your arms. You will ask Steve out before Stark’s holiday party and you_ will _go with him and sweep him off his feet under the mistletoe._ He squeezed his eyes shut and let the determination well up in him, warming his veins and fortifying his every breath. He wasn’t going to let this moment pass.

“Steve, I-“

“Touchdown in New York city!” Clint’s distinctive voice blared across the now quiet plane. “T-minus three days ‘til Christmas, which is plenty of time to still find me a great gift. Oh, and Natasha says she wants a little something-something to-“ The sound of a tussle for the intercom was heard and then a loud thunk.

“Santa says Mr. Barton is receiving a metric ton of coal.”

A muffled Clint tried to speak up. “Nat, I didn’t think you and Santa were still on speaking terms, not after that one time at Mall of America where you-“

“See you at the Stark party, everyone!” And the intercom clicked off.

“Why Tony even let them touch the controls is a mystery to me. Must be that holiday air of giving, right?”

Bucky plastered a grin on his face for the umpteenth time that night. “A real Christmas miracle.” Every step Steve took from his seat towards the exit felt like a mile away from Bucky. He began to wonder whether he needed a miracle himself.

 

\--

 

It was a blessing and a curse to be roommates with the man you finally realized you are, have been, and most likely will always be in love with. Bucky and Steve did their usual routine of faux argument and eventual coin-flip for the first shower. As a victorious Steve ducked into the bathroom, Bucky was almost glad to be left alone. Most of the steely determination had been left behind on that plane, but enough was left bubbling that a solid plan began to take shape from that fire. Stark’s party was Christmas Eve, only a short two nights away. He had an entire day to find the right moment to talk to Steve, a moment he was now sure he was going to have to manufacture. An idea struck him and Bucky knew exactly what he was going to do.

He knocked on the bathroom door.

“Almost done!” Steve spoke loudly over the sound of his shower “Don’t worry, I saved you some hot water.”

“Hey, what was your favorite part about your mom’s Christmas dinners?”

“It was small but it was delicious. She’d save a little all year just to make sure she could buy the best ingredients for that night.”

“I remember fresh bread.” Bucky surprised himself with how clearly he could taste in his memories.

“Yeah, Buck, that’s right. Homemade soda bread, right out of the oven. And the turkey- I can practically smell that now. We saved turkey for those special dinners. And mom would stuff it full of so many potatoes and onions and-“ He trailed off, words becoming too quiet to hear against the water spray. Bucky could imagine the happy faraway look in his eyes. “Why’d you ask?”

“Just curious. Stark’s dinner is sure to be nothing like that.”

“That’s for sure. Pretty sure half the appetizers were just different types of cocktails.”

He hovered outside the bathroom door almost wishing Steve would keep talking about his mom and Christmas with that loving nostalgia threaded in his every word. He lack of retreating footsteps gave him away.

“You worried?”

“About?”

“The party. Last year was kind of rough.”

The invitation to Stark’s last party had been addressed to Steve but invited both of them. Even then everyone knew Bucky was not-so-secretly crashing with Steve. He had wanted to go, so desperately wanted to be 100% okay and functioning like the Bucky he had once been. He wanted to be Steve’s friend again, his old friend that would smirk and flirt and joke without fear or caution. He wanted to sweep into that party with a tux and a smile and Steve at his side. But he couldn’t. Crowds still made him wary, reporters and flashing lights made him jump, _hell_ , a chick stepping toward him with a pick-up line on the tip of her tongue still made him check for the nearest exit. A wild party like Stark’s was so out of the question, it was almost cruel that he was invited at all. At least it felt that way to Bucky.

Steve offered to stay behind. To watch old movies and eat takeout with him, safe in the familiarity and quiet of their living room. But Bucky insisted he was fine, said it over and over with such conviction he began to believe it himself, and so Steve left promising to steal some desserts to take home to him. Bucky can barely remember what movie he had settled on. He only recalled getting fed up with the whine of Christmas music from the apartment down the hall and the happy rumblings that escaped every time someone opened the door. So fed up that he found the untouched tux in his closet, threw it on, and borrowed Steve’s motorcycle to head toward a party he really shouldn’t go to. It was a blur, but Bucky distinctly remembered being turned away because he didn’t have an invitation, trying to break into the building via skylight, and consequentially causing a near riot of Avengers and civilians when the building went under lock-down with the triggered alarm. He was dealing with forced paperwork from Fury until Halloween for that little stunt.

Steve had been so worried he took him home right away, ignoring intruder protocol and Fury himself. He had barked over the phone “He’s not a threat, he’s my _friend_ ” and Bucky felt ashamed. Even after everything he had done, was _still_ doing, Steve was utterly convinced that Bucky was still the good man he once knew. He resolved to do better, to try harder. If not for his sake, then for Steve’s.

He closed his eyes against the bitter taste his remembrances caused. “Not that worried. I’m okay now.”

The door opened and the sudden light flooding the hallway made Bucky step back. “A lot has changed this year, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” It was more of a sigh than a response. Bucky knew _he_ felt differently, but he still wasn’t sure about Steve.

“Whoa, after midnight already.” Steve grinned up from his phone. “Two days ‘til Christmas.”

“One day ‘til the party.”

And a little less than 39 hours to figure out how to get Steve, willingly and happily, under the mistletoe.

 

\--

 

The morning had been a blur of coffee, cereal, and last-minute plans to meet for lunch. Bucky had waved off Steve’s residual concerns and promised he’d be back after running some errands, lying easily that he did in fact still need to get a gift for Clint. He left their apartment with a little more haste than was necessary. It wasn’t Clint’s present he was worried about (the purple snuggie was perfect, he was sure) and even the notoriously difficult Natasha had her gift ready to go (3 pound bag of game tokens to that vintage arcade she secretly loved). Steve was, despite Bucky’s constant thinking about him, the only one still gift-less. Hence the dinner: it would be an ambitious undertaking, especially since Bucky wasn’t exactly known for his cooking skills (unless you wanted 101 ideas of what to do with ramen) but he was so utterly determined to do a sweeping romantic gesture before asking Steve… And this is where he faltered. He had every detail of his mission planned down to the type of napkins he wanted to use, but when he thought about the actual _talking to Steve_ part it was leading up to, all he saw was a giant question mark. Bucky was sure of how he felt, even if he didn’t quite know how to put it in words. It was Steve who was the unknown factor in all of this.

He wracked a hand nervously through his hair and caught sight of himself garishly reflected in a green and red window display. He looked older but still recognizable from the Captain America memorabilia that was still popular. He pulled up his hood self-consciously; the last thing he wanted was to get mobbed while trying to get groceries. The stores were already crowded enough.

He made it in and out of the market in an hour, despite the hoards of similarly last-minute shoppers. He found everything he needed easily, which was actually disappointing. He had planned to be out of the apartment just long enough to not run into Steve before seeing him for lunch; Bucky didn’t know how else to disguise arms full of obvious grocery bags. Back at his apartment he quickly shook off any plans to sneak in via back doors or fire escapes. He was going to have to let Steve in on the plan eventually, so why not right then? Bucky pressed an ear to the front door despite himself. He couldn’t hear Steve moving around, so perhaps his plan would be safe after all. A gust of cold air startled him as he opened the door. It was freezing in the apartment; even the lights seemed dim and blue.

“Steve?” He called out as he slid the groceries, bags and all, into the fridge. “Is the heat broken or something?”

When he didn’t hear a response, his senses went instantly into overdrive. Trying to keep his panic at a minimum, he quickly walked through the cold apartment, checking every room for some sign of Steve. It wasn’t unusual for him to run his own errands, but it was unsettling that he would leave without telling Bucky or even just leaving a note. Swallowing hard, he dialed Steve’s number and jumped as he heard a phone ring behind him. Sitting on the kitchen table next to a half-eaten bowl of cereal and an open newspaper was Steve’s phone.

He panicked.

Bucky dialed Natasha, then Stark, then everyone else. Each call just went to that robotic voicemail that Bucky was growing increasingly sure was just there to mock him. He ran down the hall to the door of the SHIELD agent who they weren’t supposed to know was keeping an eye on them. There was no time for pleasantries and he banged on the door, needing someone to answer him, needing any sort of help. None came. Despite the ruckus, no one else in their hall looked out to see what the noise was about. Thinking quickly, Bucky ran back to his apartment, grabbed his trusty leather jacket with the millions of pockets, stuffed them with survival essentials and took to the streets. If no one was answering their phones, he was just going to have to knock on their doors. Whatever last shred of doubt that something was wrong disappeared when he exited the building. Just a little while ago, the streets had been full of honking cars and rushed pedestrians, Christmas shoppers and families and Santas ringing bells at street corners. Now there was just silence.

It was even colder outside than it was inside his apartment. Bucky zipped up his jacket and pulled out a small knife to tuck in his sleeve. He didn’t have a visual on a threat yet, but something about the absence of any life made him itch with a heightened sense of danger. It wasn’t Steve that was missing; it was everyone. Bucky kept to the shadows as he walked along the once-bustling New York streets. Not that there was much shade left. Even the noontime sun seemed to have been replaced with a monochrome blue light. He tried to remember a briefing they had after a bad run-in with an alien portal. There existed parallel universes similar to theirs, and Bucky wondered if he had accidentally found himself in one. But how could he travel into one without feeling anything?

He heard a crackling sound behind him and he ducked into a doorway. The light was glaring off the now icy pavement and Bucky couldn’t clearly make out the silhouette in the distance. He didn’t see any choice but to follow the only other (hopefully) living thing around. It led him right and left across several blocks, always seeming to vanish around a corner before he could make out any more details. It didn’t take any training to warn him that this was a trap, but this was his only lead to Steve and he was feeling recklessly willing to follow this shadow to whatever answers it may have. He slid around another corner, only to jump suddenly back and throw his knife at the threat in front of him. A large square _thing_ darted up and the knife knocked harmlessly back to the ground. He made to lunge forward to catch it, but he lost his balance on the slick icy ground. The streets had somehow turned into giant ice rinks.

A distant cackle made him rush to pull himself up but an unnaturally heavy wind made him topple again.

“Metal man can’t stay standing! Metal man can’t stick his landing!”

He finally got his balance and glared at whoever was talking. It was as if someone had only ever seen paintings of humans and tried to replicate the appearance from that. A man-like person stood before him in a ridiculous patterned three-piece suit and large glasses, his features and edges seemingly flattened. It may have been a trick of the light, but there was something two dimensional about him.

“Ah, finally you look and see! Even though _you’re_ the one chasing me. I’ve led you long and far, and now here we are,” he swept his arms around him. “Its Central Park!”

“But I don’t live walking distance to Central Park. Where are we really?”

“It’s the park because _I_ say so. And anything I want is how the world will go.”

“Who are you? What did you do to Steve?” _And can you stop with the ridiculous rhymes?_ Bucky had enough problems than to deal with a Shakespeare wannabe.

“How rude you are! If only you knew.” The man dashed forward suddenly and Bucky braced himself for a collision. At the last second the man jumped up and a massive book flew out of nowhere and propelled the man upwards.

“Just whom you are speaking to!” The man reappeared behind him, laughing at Bucky’s jump of surprise.

“Then why don’t you tell me?” He yelled. “Stop flying around and _tell_ me!”

“Why Mr. Barnes! Haven’t you guessed? I thought surely you’d solve it by the way I am dressed. Call me Mr. Book, the story master! I fly fast, but I write even faster!”

He jumped off his hovering book in front of Bucky and the book folded in on itself until it was a palm sized version that Mr. Book snatched from the air. A feathered quill appeared out of nowhere into his hands and he began to write.

“You don’t like the park? Sure, that’s fine. We can be at Rockefeller in a second of time!” Their surroundings melted down around them, like watercolor from a page, and reformed until Bucky recognized it as Rockefeller plaza. It was disconcerting to say the least.

Trying to regain the upper hand, Bucky darted towards Mr. Book hoping to grab him or his eponymous book in hand. He failed again as ice suddenly formed below him and knocked him to the ground.

“That’s not very nice, or very right! I’m only here to chat, not at all to fight.”

“Chat about what?” He spat out, furious to find himself skidding on ice again.

“Let’s jog your memory since you can’t recall,” He deliberately turned to a page in his book. “How this whole story started at all!”

“ _James Buchanan Barnes,_ ” a ghostly voice emanated from the book, like it had been recorded deep underwater. “ _You will_ not _spend this Christmas moping around again ‘cause your love is sleeping in the next room rather than in your arms._ ”

He recognized it. “This is my voice. I _thought_ this back on the plane. How did you-? This isn’t possible.”

“Shh, Mr. Barnes, there is still more. Or do you remember your words from before?”

“ _You will ask Steve out before Stark’s holiday party and you_ will _go with him and sweep him off his feet under the mistletoe._ ” The book finished and shut itself with an echoing boom.

“I know what I promised myself.” He glared at Mr. Book. “It has nothing to do with you.”

“Oh, my silly boy! It’s so very me! That angst, that love! What a story!”

“Yeah, but it’s _my_ story.” Bucky kicked out, successfully knocking the book from his hands in his moment of distracted glee. He reached to grab it, but a massive hand yanked him back and pulled him into the air. Mr. Book stood below him, directing the giant ice hand to squeeze harder. Gone was the look of crazed happiness, and Bucky could see that below those thick glasses, Mr. Book’s eyes were just inky black orbs.

“ _All_ stories are mine, now do you understand? Everyone is a puppet in the palm of my hand.” He dumped Bucky unceremoniously on the ground. “I’ve improved your story, no need to thank me. What once was sad now has a chance to be happy!”

“I was doing fine without you.”

“Were you?” It was stated with a lighthearted smile, but its lack of rhyme made its simplicity seem foreboding. Bucky couldn’t do more than glare from his vantage point on the ground but his stomach was churning with fear.

“Where’s Steve?”

“Your princely boyfriend is locked away in a tower, one you may recognize from its image in flour. But be warned, there’s a loud timer ticking. You must haste to reach your prince or-“ Mr. Book smiled, showing teeth that were a little too sharp to be human. “You’ll rescue _nothing_.”

His book expanded with a lightning crack sound and Mr. Book jumped inside the pages, cackling as the book collapsed in on itself until it disappeared with a pop.

Bucky cursed and punched the ground with his left hand, reverberations rippling up his arm. With no one to hear him, he screamed in frustration at the whole day. As if finding the courage to ask Steve out wasn’t hard enough, now there was a C-list villain who was determined to ruin everything. After a few minutes of stomping at puddles of ice and punching a few dents in stationary cars, Bucky reined himself in and forced himself to calm his breathing. Anger wasn’t going to create solutions and as much as he was disinclined to believe a magical floating librarian, he couldn’t take his chances. Not when it came to Steve.

“A tower of flour?” He muttered, ignoring the part about _boyfriend_. “How would that even-?” He cursed. Of course Mr. Book would do this to him. Stark had been bragging all week about a to-scale gingerbread house of Avengers Tower that he was going to unveil at the party. Steve was somewhere in the tower and Bucky was stuck at Rockefeller and not a single train or taxi was running. He turned back to one of the parked cars he had dented and wrenched open the door. He inwardly thanked a young Steve Rogers for teaching him how to hotwire a car. He hoped the old methods would still work.

After a few fumbling moments the car was up and running, and Bucky jumped in the car and sped through the empty streets. He paid no attention to anything but the advancing shape of Avengers Tower in the distance. He should have known he was getting closer when the car’s tires started skidding dangerously. Bucky had to slow down to a crawl just to keep driving on the unnaturally icy roads. He honked his horn at nothing in his frustration and jumped out of the car. At this point it would be safer and faster just to walk. The snowdrifts and ice crystals grew larger and spikier as he got closer to the Tower. He kept moving his hands, trying to keep them warm in this impossible weather. The last thing he needed was for his arm to freeze-up, Stark’s promises for self-regulating temperature be damned. He shook his hand angrily in the air, sending little ice crystals flying. “Fucking _magic_.”

The front door swung open without a touch, admitting Bucky into its unrecognizable depths. From the outside it looked like the usual Tower, albeit covered in stacks of white snow that obscured the once neon “A” sign. The inside was an ice palace, something straight out of a fairytale written for kids who love glitter. It was blindingly crystal, with rays of iridescence shifting and dancing as Bucky tiptoed through the lobby. The elevators were distinctly missing, so he had no idea how to proceed from here.

“You’ve done well, to come so far. You even broke into a car! Too bad that it is all in vain. Your poor Stevie boy is half-dead from pain.”

“ _What!?_ ” He roared and spun around, trying to find the source of the taunting voice, but there was nothing there.

“The deed is all but done, and your time is almost out. My time here has been fun, but now I must-“

“No!” He shouted and it echoed in the crystal hall. “There’s still time to rescue Steve. If you’re the story master, then you can’t leave!” Bucky cursed his life. Even he was accidentally starting to talk in rhyme.

There was a long pause. Mr. Book spoke again, a considering tone in his voice. “You’re quite right, the story is far from its end. There is still time to rescue your dear friend. But now we must make it much more fun. Prove yourself a worthy opponent, and I won’t call the game done.”

He knew a challenge when he heard one. The sinking feeling in his stomach verified what he feared: Mr. Book liked stories and rhymes. To defeat him, Bucky would have to become more like him. He wondered how much time he would get…

“Well, Mr. Book I accept your challenge.” _Fuck_. That was an impossible start. “But I must warn you my love is like Stonehenge.” He could hear the man laughing in the distance. Bucky tried to pinpoint the exact location and started edging towards it. “I’ve loved Steve for years, and that is a fact. And my love makes me stronger so that I can act.” He punched an ice statue and saw the telltale flash of brown dash away from behind it.

“You may be stronger, but you’re still not fast. I wonder how much longer you think you can last?”

“You’re ice is limited, that I can tell. And so are your rhymes, and that’s just as well.” He knocked down a few more planes of ice. Bucky wasn’t going to leave any hiding places for Mr. Book unsmashed. “I’m new to this game, and yes you may laugh. But what you have in fame, I make up in sass.”

He heard the chuckle behind him and knew this was his chance.

“My poor boy, that isn’t quite right-“ Bucky punched through the crystal stalagmite right into Mr. Book’s face. He tore the book from his hand and started to rip the first page he saw.

“No!” Mr. Book was squealing and thrashing on the ground. “No, stop, stop it please!”

“If I’m right, and it appears I am, this book is _part_ of you.” Bucky glowered down at the now small looking man. “I don’t want to hurt you, just tell me where you hid Steve and make this all go away!”

“I can’t, I really can’t! I only start the stories, its up to you to make it end!”

“How?” He was breathing heavily. After all this magic _shit_ it seemed he still wasn’t closer to saving Steve.

“You made yourself a promise, so strong it called me here. Now you need to do the task that you so much fear.”

“I have to kiss Steve?”

“If that is what your goal was to do, then you have to see it through.”

He groaned and tossed the book back towards the man. “One last question, and please don’t answer in a riddle.”

Mr. Book tilted his head to listen.

“Do you know where I can find some mistletoe?”

 

\--

 

“Steve!” He rushed to the prone figure on the ground. Bucky tried to break off some of the ice that was forming over Steve’s body, but it was diamond strong and holding him immobile to the floor. He seemed asleep, which was even more dangerous in this freezing room. “Why isn’t it breaking? Why won’t he wake?” He called behind him but nothing answered him. Clearly Mr. Book did not follow him up the spiraling crystal stairs. He didn’t even have any mistletoe.

Bucky slumped to the floor beside Steve, one hand gently stroking his hair and the other still fruitlessly tugging at the growing icy crust.

“Maybe this is some sort of horrible sign.” He sighed. “Maybe everything is trying to keep us apart for a reason.” A very large part of him wanted to give up, wanted to just succumb to the cold and let the ice freeze over his broken heart. But something whispered through him, something no stronger than a memory long forgotten. His heart warmed a little at the thought. He couldn’t give up on Steve or himself; they were together ‘til the end of the line.

“You know what? I don’t care what the world wants or what Mr. Book wants or what anyone who isn’t us wants. We’ve been through absolute _shit_ to get where we are now.” He laughed wryly. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not okay. I don’t think I will ever be 100% okay. I tried Steve, I tried so hard to go back to normal, to be the man you once knew and loved. Because I’m sure you once did, some sunny youthful kind of love. I thought if I became that Bucky again maybe you’d be that Steve again. You know you used to smile so easily? You’d smile right through a bloody lip and tell me how great you fought. Now its like the whole world expects you to be their hero and you haven’t figured out how to say no.” He quickly corrected himself. “Not that I expect you to. Who am I compared to the millions of people that need you? I’m just one man with a too-big heart and a complete inability to tell you that I-“

Bucky touched Steve’s cheek softly. He looked so peaceful, more so than he usually does in his sleep. “I had a beautiful dinner planned; all of your old childhood favorites. I was so wrong about everything. I thought the way to show you how I felt was to show you that I’m back to being my old self, but normal doesn’t exist. What _does_ exist is who we are _right now_ and who we can be together and how I feel about you. All that exists is how I feel…” This was it. This was that ‘right moment’ Bucky had been waiting for. Every nerve in his body was singing and he couldn’t tell whether it was from fear or from hope. He pulled out his knife, hoping this one last detail might end this magic. Bucky carved a little mistletoe drawing into the ice above Steve’s head.

“Good enough for me.” He laughed. And then he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Steve. It was odd, finally kissing the lips he had been dreaming of for so long. It was much colder than he expected. “I love you Steve.” He whispered.

A strangled sound was wrenched out of him and it was like someone turned the gravity off. Bucky jolted up in the air, scrambling to try to keep himself upright. He twisted and tried to reach a hand out to Steve, but a huge plume of ice knocked them apart. Everything around him was melting violently. Chunks of crystal were breaking off and soaring upwards with dangerous speed. He closed his eyes and tried to cover his head from the worst of it and was left with a clanging bell sound in his ears. Then as suddenly as it began, it ended, and he hit the ground with a crash.

“B-bucky!”

He opened his eyes to see a gasping Steve curled on the ground beside him in the lobby of Avengers Tower. He rushed to help him stand up. Both of them had ice in their hair and little cuts in their clothes and skin. If not for their appearance, Bucky would have thought it was all a horrible nightmare.

“Are you okay?”

“Are _you?_ Did you just defeat a rhyming wizard to get to me?”

He blanched. “Could you hear _everything_ while you were asleep?”

“Pretty much.” Steve couldn’t help a stupidly huge grin from crossing his face. “Me too.”

Bucky was internally panicking too much to make sense of what Steve said. “…you heard _everything_?”

“Hey, its fine.” Steve touched his face gently. “It’s more than fine. I love you too.”

“Oh-!” His little gasp was so out of character that Steve couldn’t help but laugh.

“Is it really that much of a surprise?”

“Its not like you ever did anything that made me think-“

“You really are an idiot.”

Bucky swatted his arm. “Who you calling idiot, you big jerk.”

Steve just pulled him forward into a kiss, this time warm and wonderful. And yes, he tasted faintly like the candy Bucky always dreamed he would.

 

\--

 

“Are they kissing?”

Natasha pulled Clint back from the glass window of the Tower. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you its rude to stare?”

“You just don’t want to lose the bet. You guessed they’d kiss on Christmas _day_ not eve.”

She just shrugged. “I’m just happy to see my two dumb friends finally get together.”

“Happy enough to pay me the one hundred dollars right now?”

She jabbed Clint in the side. “Shut up and just enjoy the Christmas miracle. It’s been a long time coming.”

 

~FIN~

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! May your Holidays be ridiculously happy!


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